


Only in Sleep (Time is Forgotten)

by The_Last_Kenobi



Series: Whumptober 2020 [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obitine, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Satine Kryze Needs a Hug, Sharing a Bed, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Kenobi/pseuds/The_Last_Kenobi
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Satine Kryze - every once in a very long while, they find ways to indulge, just a little.It keeps the shadows at bay, and it has to be enough.Written for Whumptober 2020Day 18 - Panic Attacks
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Series: Whumptober 2020 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956463
Comments: 23
Kudos: 80





	Only in Sleep (Time is Forgotten)

**Author's Note:**

> Because there's no way our favorites are walking around in the GFFA without some intense mental trauma, and because these two in particular would only ever break down in private (and around one another) because they have to.

(This is their last night together.)

(They don't know it yet.)

Satine Kryze is a Duchess, a ruler with a gentle hand but a backbone of iron, and she has waded through loss and war and betrayal to sit on the throne.

She rises early and goes to bed late, and with every waking moment she is throwing all that she is and all that she has into protecting Mandalore and serving the galaxy at large. Satine rarely picks up a weapon, not even in self-defense, and she gives honors to all of their dead, friend or foe alike.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi Master, a diplomat and general with an aura of peace but a mind suited for war, and he has struggled through rejection and trauma and war to protect the Order and the government which he serves.

He rises early and goes to bed late, when he sleeps at all, and with every waking moment he is dreaming of a peaceful end to the wars and throwing all that he is and all that he has into seeing that dream become reality for everyone. He rarely sets his weapon down, not even when alone, and he has mourned at more Jedi pyres in the past three years than all the others from his previous thirty-five years of life.

A pacifist ruling a planet that loves and hates her.

A peacemaker warring in a galaxy that loves and hates him.

They are polar opposites, and they are exactly the same.

More importantly—sometimes—they are completely, irrevocably, and devotedly in love.

When they were eighteen they spent an entire year side by side, fighting off death and falling into that love. They met again more than sixteen years later, and found that they were still in love—and even less likely to be able to do anything about it.

(And, at age thirty-seven, they have a mere handful of months remaining until the pacifist is murdered by a foe of the peacemaker. But they don’t know that, not yet.)

Sometimes—

Sometimes, every once in a very long while, Obi-Wan Kenobi will slip into the palace hooded and cloaked, allowed entry by the scant few who know, and climb into bed with the Duchess.

Only to sleep.

Just sleep.

Sleep, peacefully, warmly, even—dare they say it (they don’t), happily.

The Duchess and the Jedi share a bed, so that once in a blue moon they can feel safe and content, and as if there are possibilities for them when the war ends.

(It will never end, not before both of them are dead.)

They share a bed to ease the relentless loneliness that defines their lives.

And they share a bed so that when one or both of them wakes shaking and screaming and crying, the other is right there to help.

Satine always sits bolt upright, her hands fisted in the bedclothes, her eyes wild with panic and remembered terror. It takes a steady, one-armed embrace to soothe her, takes ten minutes at least, and the entire time she hardly breathes, gasping soundlessly.

Obi-Wan is always rigid as a board, but he cries completely silently, tears soaking his face and his beard, and it takes a gentle hand on his shoulder, stroking his arm back and forth, back and forth, to soothe him.

They do not speak of it.

(This is their last night together. They are running out of time.)

(But then, they have always been running out of time.)

They are both so very tired of constantly talking, talking, talking to a galaxy that will not listen to them, of having to use their words as weapons, of never being able to just enjoy and be.

When they have these struggles under daylight—it’s a good day when they’re able to escape the constant presence of others, troops and councils and politicians and friends, long enough to regain their breath. It’s a good day when they’re able to pull through alone.

No one has time for the Duchess of Mandalore, Protector of the Neutral Systems, and the High Jedi General of the Third Systems Army, Council Master, to be consumed with panic and grief.

They are needed.

So they do not speak. They touch—gently, modestly, reverently—and they look into one another’s eyes—understandingly, comfortingly, knowingly.

And every once in a very long while, they share a bed, and they both get a little more sleep that way.

(This is their last night together. Neither of them know it yet.)

(The survivor will spend the remaining twenty years of his life sleeping alone—shaking silently, now, and still crying. And there will be no gentle hand on his shoulder, no warm fingers to dash away the tears, and no understanding blue eyes.)

(This is their last night together.)

(Neither of them wakes this night, but their hands entwine till dawn.)


End file.
